


Unsuited

by Minim Calibre (minim_calibre)



Category: DCU (Comics), Manhunter (Comics)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 23:20:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minim_calibre/pseuds/Minim%20Calibre





	Unsuited

"Did you do something to the suit?" Kate stares hard at Dylan, looking for a tell, something to confirm or deny what she's suspected since the sensation started oh-so-conveniently during the tail-end of her last fight with a D-list metahuman. All she sees is his usual expression: one part genial idiot; one part savant; two parts smug scumbag. The big names in costumes have earnest, clean-scrubbed sidekicks. She's got the target audience for The Man Show as sponsored by Wired.

She takes a step forward. He backs up a step. Lather, rinse, repeat until he's run out of steps and his fat ass is up against the wall

"Did you--" Kate's arm snakes out, pinning him against his Pamela Anderson calendar with just enough pressure to intimidate "--do something--" she grits her teeth against the ache "--to the suit?"

It's not until he tries to talk and nothing comes out but the panicked wheezing of an asthmatic pug that she realizes she's increased the pressure to something actually dangerous. Fuck.

She lets go, he slides down to the floor. After a few seconds of catching his breath and a few impressed and aroused looks she wishes she could interpret as anything but, he answers. "Nothing you don't already know about. Nothing new." He's telling the truth.

"Fuck."

Dylan raises his eyebrows, opens his mouth to make what she's sure he thinks is a snappy comeback or come-on, and closes it again when she glowers. If she wasn't so uncomfortable, it would be funny to watch his libido warring with his well-honed self-preservation instincts, but she is and it's not, because for the first time in the history of their partnership, part of her's hoping the libido wins.

"Shit." This is worse than a nic fit, and she can't blame the suit, and she's going to need her eyes checked before the end of the week, because Dylan's looking a little less soft, almost good. She fidgets. "Been working out?" Maybe the D-lister had some powers that weren't in the dossier.

There's more panic in his eyes now than there was when she had him by the throat as he works it out. Self-preservation is strong in this one. "Been fighting Poison Ivy?"

The laugh, when it comes out, is strangled. "Christ, I wish." Then she's dragging him back to his feet, back against the wall, and kissing the fuck out of him.

"Are you sure you--" he starts when they come up for air.

"Shut up, Dylan." She goes back to kissing him.

He's not half-bad. She guesses it shouldn't be a surprise, considering he's probably paid the equivalent of her law school tuition on that and related activities. He's got his hand halfway down the suit before they're halfway to the bedroom. Going this fast would probably bother her if this were someone other than Dylan and something other than desperation. As it is, it's not fast enough.

Hell, if she's honest with herself, even the Flash wouldn't be fast enough right now.

Though with the Flash, she probably wouldn't hate herself in the morning, let alone in the moment. Oh well, it's not like her personal life wasn't screwed-up enough as-is.

For someone who always looks like he's just woken up after a bender and thrown on last week's clothes, Dylan smells remarkably good. "You actually shower," she mutters against his neck, catching the unexpected scent of expensive bath products. "Dylan Battles uses Bumble &amp; bumble, who'd have thought?"

"My ex left it. And Kate Spencer's still a self-possessed bitch in the sack, who'd have thought?"

She pins him down with her thighs and grins about an inch from his face. "Admit it. You like it."

"I like it. "

He does something with his fingers that makes her back arch and her breath catch, and self-possession goes out the window for the next fifteen minutes, during which time Kate learns more than she ever wanted to know and everything she never wanted to ask about what a tech genius can do with sex toys. Short answer: a lot.

Three hours, two condoms, and several losses of self-possession later, she lights up without asking permission. "Jesus."

Dylan doesn't even lift his face from the pillow. "You can say that again."

"I'd rather not."

The only answer is a soft snore. Typical. What would Batman do in this situation? Not Robin, so it's probably a stupid question.

She ashes into one of the empty beer bottles on the nightstand and looks at the clock. If she hurries, she can get dressed, find some meta criminal to fight--giving herself a reason for the various aches and pains she knows she'll feel in the morning--go home, and pretend this never happened. Oh, who the hell is she trying to kid? Even if she tries, Dylan's never going to let her live this down. Male pride generally trumps even the strongest survival instinct.

When she tastes filter, she drops the butt in the bottle and listens to it fizzle out in the remaining drops of Corona while she buries her face under the pillow like some big-city ostrich.

Christ, she'd feel better if she actually regretted this.


End file.
